


Seated Positions

by Unlimited_Siggy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Silva, Domination, James Bond - Freeform, James Bond/Raoul Silva - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Raoul Silva - Freeform, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlimited_Siggy/pseuds/Unlimited_Siggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyfall AU! Raoul Silva survives the Dundee knife throw to his back during the events of Skyfall. Held as a clandestine prisoner of MI6, Silva spends much of his time doing nothing. A visit from Bond ends up being more than he can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ehh, what have I done? lol. Based on a concept from tumblr that I thought was genius! This is a non beta'd work so I apologize for any spell errors and the like such as grammar.
> 
> My tumblr [siggyunlimited](http://siggyunlimited.tumblr.com/)

Even dimmed, as they were now, the florescent bulbs assaulted Bond’s senses as he entered the stone vault beneath the streets of downtown London. The dull hum of white noise seemed to reverberate off the walls within the large underground chamber and pass through his body. Bond squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. It was late. Much later than any conventional visiting hours allowed. Then again, this was no ordinary prison and this was no ordinary prisoner.

As much as it would have pleased Bond to see Raoul Silva pay for his crimes M thought better of it, for what purpose Bond didn’t know. Maybe M thought Silva might prove to be a useful asset one day – a contingency plan. Whatever his purpose, only a select few at MI6 knew of this man’s continued existence.

Bond walked slowly towards the glass encasement. Even with renovations the enclosure seemed small – a single stool, toilet, sink, and bed. His gaze soon fell upon the body that lay on the bed directly in front of him. Silva appeared almost motionless in his sleep except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Hands linked atop his torso Raoul Silva resembled a stone statue carved in decoration for a tomb. It hardly seemed imaginable that mere months ago this man wreaked a path of chaos and terror across the globe…now here he was…isolated… _trapped_ …

"Didn't I tell you Mr. Bond?”

Bond’s jaw tightened at the sudden break in silence.

"Didn't I tell you that life seems to cling to me like a disease," Silva said quietly as he stirred from his superficial slumber.

Bond stood fixed, glued to the floor, “who knows, maybe third times the charm,” he said shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. A mirthlessly chuckle escaped Silva’s lips as he leisurely sat up from his bed.

He shook his head in faux dismay, “if you insist on interrupting my beauty sleep you might as well pay me a pleasant social call.”

Silva swung his feet over the side of the bed and placed them gently on the floor. Their eyes met as Silva rose from the bed and trod over to the small stool, he stretched his lower back and rolled his right shoulder before finally sitting down. His gaze, void of emotion, penetrated Bond’s own equally steely stare. Silva motioned towards a chair to the far left of the room, “come, sit.”

Bond’s eyes followed but his body remained. “Ohh, come now Mr. Bond, you don’t want to hurt my feelings do you,” Silva asked audaciously. Against his better judgment Bond grabbed the solitary chair from across the room and placed it down roughly opposite of his host. He shrugged off his coat, placed it neatly to the side, and sat down smoothly with his hands in his lap.

Silva clapped his hands together, “there, now isn’t that better?” Bond pursed his lips before he responded cynically, “not particularly.”

Silva chuckled. It was a hollow sound that struck Bond as particularly chilling.

“We haven’t spent much time together since our last encounter on the moor Mr. Bond. I wish to remedy the situation,” he said in pseudo sincerity. Silva’s hand rose and lingered aside his temple until a wicked expression flickered across his face.

“I’m curious Mr. Bond, exactly how many women have you slept with during your career at MI6,” Silva asked with a hum in his voice. Bond stared back silently. “Do you think they enjoyed it,” he continued teasingly, “or was the pleasure all yours?” Bond face remained stoic except for the brief lift at the corner of his mouth.

Silva laughed heartily, “yes, I’m sure that all you have to do is make love to a woman for her to hear the heavenly chorus from above. _Hallelujah she is saved_!” He gestured towards the ceiling. “Funny,” Silva said, paused in mock contemplation, “I don’t quite remember that having occurred for a mutual acquaintance of ours.”

“Collateral damage,” replied Bond curtly. “Is that what they’re calling it these days,” Silva quipped with a click of his tongue. Bond stirred in his seat. He was sorely tempted to get up and leave.

“I see I’ve hit a soft spot,” Silva said with a brisk nod of his head, “another subject then, _hum_?”

“Care to enlighten me about the nature of your visit?”

“I came to study a medical anomaly,” Bond retorted as he crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair. “Wrong,” Silva snapped back, his voice sharp and pointed. Silva hunched forward on the stool and stared into Bond’s eyes, hands clenched tightly on his knees, “you’re _lying_ to yourself just as dear old mum used to _lie_ to us – you’re here because you can’t help but _feel_ _drawn_ to me. The second survivor.” The tension in the air was near palpable as a hush came over them. Bond refused to turn from the piercing gaze and instead stood his ground.

“We’re more similar than you think Mr. Bond,” Silva said as he grinned to himself in self-satisfaction. “I know your secrets,” he paused and lowered his voice almost to a whisper, “I know that somewhere **_deep inside_** there is a part of you that derives immense pleasure from our situation.”

“Tell me Mr. Bond, don’t you feel it,” Silva’s voice hardened, he leaned further forward, “aren’t you enjoying the sense of power you think you have over me?”

“I didn’t realize it was a topic for debate,” Bond said while uncrossing his arms.

“Well, I can tell you without a single doubt in my mind that I’m in complete control,” Silva said as the corners of his mouth flickered upwards. As if bored, Silva looked down and examined his fingernails for dirt, “I bet I can make you wither in your seat with pleasure without ever having to get up off of mine.”

Bond’s face, otherwise hardened, permitted a single eyebrow to rise. “Is that a challenge,” he asked. A predatory smile graced Silva’s face in return.

“Does your skin still sting where I touched you,” Silva asked provocatively while his eyebrow rose in delight. As if on cue Bond felt the ghostly remnants of Silva’s hand underneath his shirt running across his chest. He remembered how those fingers lightly grazed against the ragged scar tissue of the bullet wound and moved seductively towards his neck. Bond’s mouth suddenly felt dry as he fought the urge to let his hand follow the phantom's path. He began to question his rationality and the strength of his willpower.

“I could feel it, you know, the heat radiating off your body as I touched you,” Silva said letting his head fall back listlessly while his hand gently caressed his neck, “you may have performed the part of ‘level headed agent’ but I know, deep down, how much you wanted to continue with our little conversation.”

“It was a shame that it ended so quickly then,” Bond replied curtly.

Silva’s hands dropped to his knees, slowly they ran up the length of his legs as they widened providing Bond with a better view of his covered erection. “How many times have you touched yourself while thinking of being restrained under my ties,” Silva asked in a deep and sultry tone.

“How many hours have you lied awake at night – your body aching for the touch of these hands…”

“Would you imagine my hand sliding down the front of your chest…”

“Would you pretend that it was my hand instead of your own squeezing your throbbing cock…my thumb sliding over its tip…my palm stroking its length…”

Silva allowed a hush to linger after each provocation while he watched as Bond attempted to maintain his pitiless composure. Bond, in turn, felt his willpower dissipate under the skillful manipulation of his imagination and he was powerless to stop his eyes from closing as he felt the phantom’s hand slide down his body until it reached the bulge between his legs. Unable to resist the pleasure friction provided, Bond shifted in his chair as he felt his trousers tighten against his growing erection. Silva’s eyes trailed down Bond’s seated form and he smiled at the sudden change in his guest’s disposition.

“How many times have you came thinking about me deep inside of you,” Silva groaned, his tongue darted across his bottom lip, “naked…breathless… _desperate_ for more…”

Bond swallowed loudly while his hands moved to grasp the tips of his knees.

“Are you imagining it now,” slurred Silva, Bond subconsciously opened his legs wider while his mind desperately fought against his arousal, “are you imagining yourself being taken from behind…kneeling on the floor…hands tied behind your back?”

As his breathing deepened and devolved into ragged pants Bond slid to the edge of his chair as if magnetically drawn towards Silva body. He opened his eyes but regretted the decision almost instantly. Even in the semi-darkness of the room Bond could clearly distinguish the taut muscles underneath Silva’s white shirt, his eyes followed the agonizingly slow decent of Silva’s hand towards his waistband. He watched in anticipation as Silva’s thumb ran along its edge eliciting a moan from Bond before he could repress its sound.

Silva smiled, pleased with the direction of their conversation, and leaned back on the stool. He pulled his erection free from its confinement grasping it tightly round the base and asked in a provocative whisper, “why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do to me Mr. Bond.”

Bond pressed himself against the bottom of the chair – his erection painfully obvious against the tightness of his trousers. There was no sense in denying it any longer he reasoned. It was true. Bond desperately wanted Silva and the more he tried to deny this fact the more it seemed Silva had a grip on him. He wanted to devour his mouth. He wanted to tear at his flesh. He wanted to completely and utterly dominate him – he wanted to make Silva succumb to his own desires. Bond wanted to fuck him and be damned if he’d ever let the son-of-a-bitch get a hold of him again.

Bond raised a hand to his mouth allowing his thumb to rub against his lower lip. “I bet without that part of your jaw you’d give an excellent blow-job,” he said huskily, Bond paused and bit down barring his teeth, “do you even have a gag reflex?”

Silva chuckled breathlessly, “why don’t you come closer and find out?”

Bond forced himself to stay seated, he needed to illustrate he was in control. “I’m going to shove my cock so far down your gaping fuck hole that you’ll have no other choice than to choke on it in order to gasp for air,” he said coldly, his eyes narrowed to a piercing stare. Silva groaned at the sudden change in gear, his grip tightened around his prick until precome trickled down his shaft, “is that all you’ll do to me Mr. Bond?” A humourless smile crossed Bond’s face as his hand rose to the collar of his shirt and pulled at it roughly snapping off a button or two.

“Who would come to your rescue,” Bond continued coolly as he leaned precariously forward, “no one would even hear you fucking scream as I have my hands wrapped around your goddamn neck.” Silva’s breath hitched in his throat, he moaned loudly seemingly unable to contain himself, “yes Mr. Bond, I quite like that…” he said – head tossed to one side, eyes half-lidded with desire.

“Of course you do you, _you fucking slut_ ,” Bond growled between clenched teeth.

“You’ll tell me how amazing I fucking taste…how much you love choking on my prick…and how desperate you are to have it back inside of you.”

“Yes, don’t stop,” Silva moaned hoarsely as he threw back his head close to climax.

Bond near the brink of his own climax continued. “I’ll make you beg for more as you feel my cock slide up to its hilt in your ass. I’ll fuck you until you’re raw, I’ll fuck you until you beg me with tears in your eyes just to let you come.”

The heat and pressure of Bond’s swollen cock were unbearable, suddenly he shot to his feet with enough force knocking his chair to the floor unnoticed as he charged the glass prison. Bond struck his fist against the side of the chamber with a loud thwack while his shoulders heaved with lustful exertion – lost in fantasy.

“You’ll be trapped… powerless…beaten… _fucked_ …” Bond rasped, breath hot against the glass, unable to control himself any longer.

At those last words Silva fisted himself to orgasm shooting hot come against the glass wall and over his hand. There was a moment of near silence as both men heaved and gasped for air.

Silva grabbed a towel off his sink to clean himself. He adjusted his hair and returned his cock back in to its place. He smiled.

“ _My_ , _my_ , _my_ , Mr. Bond…” he said goadingly, “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed but I’m still sitting in my seat and you seem to have risen from yours.” A look of pure gratification greeted Bond’s own disbelief as distressing realization kicked in. Bond first turned, and looked behind to see the fallen chair, second, he looked below and noticed the prominent come stain that grew in his trousers. “To the victor go the spoils,” Silva quipped as he broke into a fit of dark laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, my mind is a little burned out. I'm not sure if this is to the same standard of the last chapter but please enjoy! Again, this is an un-beta'd work. : )

Bond drank insatiably from the clear whiskey bottle; the glass itself was cool against his lips juxtaposed dramatically against the liquor that burned as it slid down his throat and into his gullet. There was no need for a tumbler. No point really. It was all going to the same place and as long as it got there…perfectly efficient.

Bond wiped the corners of his mouth with the backside of his hand and brought the whiskey bottle down hard against the counter top. He glanced around the dim room full of young beautiful people who rhythmically swayed and humped their way across the dance floor. He had to suppress a bitter laugh.

Bond was angry, Bond was ashamed, and Bond was… so very _terribly_ _aroused_.

He no longer felt pleasure in the grinding hips of women that surrounded him at the bar and accompanied him home at night; Bond began to wonder whether he ever did. It had been several nights since his last visit to Raoul Silva’s prison chamber. It had started off as a game, weeks ago, but Bond soon found himself unable to stop going back again and again. He swallowed more of the caramel liquor and cringed at its acidic warmth.

Bond was revolted at what Silva had been able to do to him with such ease. He was no longer able to look at himself in the mirror; when he did, Bond saw someone that he neither recognized nor accepted as himself. He had played right into Silva’s hand by letting the psychopath do as he pleased from within his glass prison.

Bond was no longer satisfied with merely his fantasies. He wanted not just to watch but also to touch another warm-blooded body and feel the raw passion underneath his grip and move beneath his frame. He imagined he could be rough, violent… _sadistic_. Bond’s hand rose instinctively to his mouth, he bit the inside of his middle finger to focus but… ultimately the floodgate of wicked possibilities pored out from the darker recesses of his mind. There was something undeniably provocative and alluring in being able to completely lose control, to let his irrationality and animalistic nature awaken from its slumber, and disregard the consequences of his actions.

Bond rose shakily on his feet, he retrieved his wallet from his coat pocket, and tossed several bills on top of the counter before he seized the liquor bottle and made his way out the door. Before he fully realized where he was going and what he was doing Bond found himself back within the hallways of subterranean MI6, almost in the exact spot he had stood during his first visit weeks ago. He took a swig of whiskey; although Bond’s mind was adrift under an intoxicated haze he understood what his body wanted and what he was about to do.

Last time Silva had beaten him. This time, _this time he was_ _prepared_.

“Hello James,” greeted Silva’s elegant voice, “I didn’t think I would see you so soon,” he continued with a hint of mock surprise and real amusement. Bond casually made his way towards the prison cell and observed Silva who was dressed in plain nightclothes and appeared impeccably composed as per usual.

“It’s alright if I call you James, right,” Silva coyly probed while he closed a book in his lap, “we’ve become so _intimately_ acquainted over these last few weeks.”

Bond guffawed at the smug son-of-a-bitch. It irritated him how well Silva was able to keep his composure with such unwavering control. Bond wanted desperately to break it. His grip tensed around the bottleneck while the other, shoved deep inside his coat pocket, clenched the surprise he had brought just for tonight.

“You don’t look so well,” Silva quipped with a shake of his head. He rose from his seat and quickly made to study his guest under the spotlight. Bond’s blood shot eyes were made more prominent by the shadowy circles that accompanied them, his overall expression was long and tired, while his posture indicated he was close to exhaustion.

Bond was near the brink of his breaking point; Silva had to suppress an excited smirk.

“You’ve been indulging in your addictions again,” Silva said with a knowing nod of his head and a wave of his hand, “you can barely stand let alone walk with the amount of alcohol in your system.”

Bond shifted his weight.

“I cannot believe they let you back into service,” Silva continued, his glaring eyes bore into Bond’s own, “do they really expect you to last long knowing how far gone you are now?”

The corners of Bond’s mouth twitched, as did Silva’s in return.

“Does M know of our little midnight _get-togethers_ ,” Silva taunted in a low voice with a nod towards the single visible security camera, “what do you think he would say?”

In almost an instant Bond closed the short distance between himself and the glass chamber and with an effortlessly swipe of his ID card he entered the cell. Before Silva could react to what had happened he found himself forcefully pulled downwards only to catch a glimpse of silver materialize from Bond’s pocket and hear the distinct sound of metal on metal. Click. Click.

Silva took but a moment to process that his wrists were now securely cuffed and locked to the frame of his bed. _Touché_ , Mr. Bond he thought. Elated at the sudden change in Bond’s behaviour Silva kept his face indecipherable all the while knowing it wouldn’t be long before Bond would make his final descent.

“Oh,” Silva said with a cry of delight, “I was not expecting this...”

“Shut up,” Bond barked as he knocked Silva roughly to his knees. Just then, Bond felt positively alive as a sudden rush of euphoria coursed through his body. It was a psychological release that made him feel far removed from the legality and morality of what he was about to do. Bond smiled to himself – he just didn’t care.

Silva’s eyes followed Bond as placed the bottle of whiskey down on the stool, shrugged off his heavy coat, and leered at his captive while contemplating his next move. He stepped closer to Silva’s crouched form and descended gradually on his haunches until their eyes were level. Bond stretched an unsteady hand forward, placed the tips of his fingers underneath Silva’s chin, and gently pulled him closer. Silva could smell the bitter alcohol as it wafted off Bond’s breath.

“I’m going to make you _suffer_ ,” purred Bond venomously.

Silva cocked his head and moved closer still, “I’d like to see you _try_.”

At once Bond propelled his body forward and forced Silva’s mouth open with his own while his hand gripped Silva securely by the neck in order to prevent any escape from the oral assault. He pressed the length of his body firmly to Silva’s as he drove his leg in between Silva’s knees to rub against his erection. Bond’s tongue stirred and tanged with Silva’s until he completely dominated his mouth in what seemed like hours but was closer to minutes. Silva, breathless and panting, broke the kiss with a hard nip to Bond’s lip and sneered tartly, “is that all?”

Bond touched his lower lip and examined the blood that coloured his fingertips. He laughed dryly and struck Silva’s face with the palm of his hand. Droplets of blood quickly formed and fell from Silva’s split lip to stain the concrete floor. Silva’s tongue darted out from his mouth to test the wound.

“That’s more like it,” he replied between swollen lips.

Both men smiled – each a mirror of the other, distorted in equal measures arousal and spite.

Bond stood and looked down at the flushed face that stared up at him while he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and thrust it towards Silva’s mouth. “You must be thirsty,” Bond said without humour. The glass connected roughly against Silva’s porcelain teeth while the remnants of the alcohol were poured down his throat. When it was empty Bond tossed the bottle to one side and shoved his thumb brutally into Silva’s mouth. He grabbed hold of Silva’s lower jawbone and shook it. Silva bit down.

“Open wide,” Bond growled through barred teeth. Silva narrowed his eyes but obliged the command.

Bond stood mesmerized – his mind struggled to process his actions. He swallowed loudly, his cock was intolerably hard and ached underneath his trousers, he let his thumb slide out of Silva’s mouth and fall to his waistband. “Let’s see about that gag reflex, shall we,” Bond said sharply ignoring any and all of his mind’s rational protests.

As one hand grasped the top of Silva’s soft hair firmly the other moved efficiently to unbutton his trousers. Once Bond freed his erection from its confines he smiled wickedly and with one vigorous thrust pushed its entirety into Silva’s open mouth. Bond groaned quietly and let his head fall back as he past Silva’s teeth and slide down what remained of his damaged throat. Silva instinctively struggled against the hasty invasion whilst strong hands held him immobile. Bond sighed as he began a slow and steady rhythm only allowing Silva a quick intake of breathe.

“Take. Every. Fucking. Inch. Of. That. Cock. Do you hear me,” Bond said as he pounded Silva’s face ruthlessly at each syllable. Silva’s thinly covered knees scraped and tore on the concrete floor with the strength of the brutal movement.

“That’s it, _you fucking bitch_ ,” Bond panted when he stopped to enjoy the warmth of Silva’s mouth. He felt Silva’s tongue skilfully caress and stroke the entire length of his shaft in one fell swoop and in return Bond rubbed the top of Silva’s head condescendingly before he increased the speed of his thrusts. As the heat of orgasm started to build, Bond pulled his prick out of Silva’s mouth and squeezed his base in an effort to subdue the urge. The last thing Bond wanted to do was come before he even had a chance to properly fuck Silva. Bond glanced down and had to stifle a whimper at the sight that greeted him.

Silva, blurry eyed and cock hungry, propped himself up eagerly on his knees as a string of saliva hung off his bloody lips and led to the tip of Bond’s prick. Silva shifted forward and pressed his face against Bond’s thigh while he lapped at the pre-come that slowly dripped down Bond’s cock. His tongue darted and flicked across his slick head while the vibrations of his moans sent shivers of pleasure down Bond’s spine.

“I think you want this more than you believe,” he hushed.

Bond pushed Silva back with his foot and hit him across the face again…and then again…and then again. Blood splattered across Bond’s hand and trickled down Silva’s face. Bond laughed dryly as he wiped his hand off on his dress shirt.

His hand encircled crudely around Silva’s throat and squeezed as he moved Silva up off the floor to kneel on top of the bed. Their mouth’s collided once again in a violent frenzy as Bond wrenched Silva’s shirt hastily up over his head and ripped open his own letting it fall to the floor. As their tongues intertwined with each other in a battle of sexual dominance Bond’s hand seized a fistful of Silva’s blond hair. He jerked Silva’s head back abruptly to expose his elongated throat. Bond’s mouth gradually descended leaving hot wet kisses that soon ended in ravenous bites and bruised skin. He could taste the sweat, blood, and musk on Silva’s skin as his tongue slid up towards his cheek and back to his mouth. Silva groaned and attempted to grind his hips against Bond’s own, desperate for friction, for release.

Bond hastily stepped away from Silva’s yearning hips and tender mouth and moved into his blind spot. Silva leaned forward on his arms and pushed back with his ass as he anticipated a quick fuck from behind. Instead, Silva was greeted with the unexpected sensation of a hard leather belt pulled taut around his neck. He struggled to arch his back in order to relieve the pressure but was prevented by his confined wrists that bleed at the force with which they pulled against the cuffs.

Bond further coiled the leather belt round his left hand and leaned back to admire his handy work. He wrenched the belt ferociously as he stroked himself with his free hand.

“Let’s see you escape now,” Bond panted with eyes ablaze. His dark side revelled in the pain he could cause Silva. Bond enjoyed the thought of being in total control. If he could pull a trigger what would stop him from pulling this? He only needed to wrench a bit tighter to end Silva’s life.

Silva’s body writhed against the abrasive edges of the leather; the mixture of pleasure and pain left his erection begging for touch. Glooming shadows encroached the corners of Silva’s vision threatening him with totally darkness until the very last second when Bond released the belt. Silva’s body fell forward, arms braced against the frame, his chest heaved and pitched with the sudden rush of air that he gulped greedily.

Silva shuddered as he felt Bond’s hands leisurely travel across his chest and down towards his throbbing pelvis. He raised his hips closer to Bond’s nimble fingers while they slowly spread apart his legs and slipped down his cotton pants freeing his swollen erection. Bond grasped Silva’s cock, palmed pressed firmly against his hard shaft, and moved agonizingly up and down.

He watched as Bond’s dark trousers flew suddenly to the ground and felt as Bond pressed his entire body against his own. Silva let his head fall back, unabashed by his situation; pressing himself against Bond’s white-hot body eager for what was to come. Moans of pleasure willingly escaped from Silva’s lips as he twisted underneath the combined sexual torture of Bond’s too tight grip around his sensitive prick and the too tight belt around his neck.

“Do you remember what I told you,” Bond whispered hoarsely in Silva’s ear, “I told you I was going to make you beg as I fucked you raw.”

A sadistic smile grew on Bond’s face unaware of Silva’s own icy grin.

Silva turned his head and heard the unmistakable sound of spitting; he then felt the slick pressure of Bond’s cock pressed against his entrance. Bond seized Silva’s shoulders securely and pulled down hard as he thrust himself deep into his captive. Silva moaned as Bond’s cock stroked the core of his body, his hands gripped the cool metal frame, and he bucked his hips against the pressure that he craved. He shivered at the sound of Bond’s primitive growl as he slowly began to pick up speed. Both men were lost to the world.

Bond braced himself on top of Silva’s back and pressed down into the bed while Silva pushed back against his thrusts in equal time. He felt his mind let go of the restrictions it had created allowing him to feel what was going on around him. The heat that rose off Silva’s body seared his skin and was rivalled only by the hot constrictive pressure of Silva’s ass. Bond swallowed a groan and closed his eyes relishing in the sensations he experienced. He wanted to loose all control as he ferociously pulled Silva down to the base of his cock. Silva moaned and grunted between gritted teeth while Bond echoed them in return.

Bond dropped his head to rest against Silva’s sweat soaked back; he let his teeth slowly scrape against Silva’s pale skin. He licked a sensitive patch close to Silva’s ear that resulted in a surprised cry. He smirked. Bond moved farther down and bit hard, to which Silva bucked eagerly for his erection to be touched. Bond ignored this.

“Beg,” he said coldly as he slowly his thrusts to a near halt, “beg me to fuck you.”

Both men fell silent as they panted in the hot and oppressive air.

“Não…não pare,” came a quiet breathless whisper from below.

“In English,” Bond purred.

“Don’t…stop,” came Silva’s raspy growl.

“I’m sorry,” Bond goaded, “what was it you wanted to say? I thought I told you to beg.”

Silva moved his hips against Bond’s cock, however, Bond twisted the belt as he pulled himself out of Silva.

“ _Ah_ _ah_ _ah_ …”

Silence filled the room.

“Fuck me,” came the resentful reply between clenched teeth.

Bond smiled. He seized the leather belt around Silva’s neck, wrenched it tight, and using it as leverage forced him way back to the hilt and pounded his body against Silva’s mercilessly. Silva choked at the sudden return of the belt’s pressure while his own thrusts became more disorganized and shallow. He felt close to the brink of orgasm as Bond deepened his thrusts and hit his prostate repeatedly. Hot white light flashed behind Bond’s eyes as he felt Silva’s muscles constrict around him; the rush of absolute ecstasy over came his senses and he orgasmed deep inside Silva.

Both men panted loudly as they felt the aftershocks wrack their sweat-slicked bodies. Bond closed his eyes and let his arms encircle Silva’s shoulders in front allowing himself a moment of serenity…lost in fantasy…

Before he realized what was happening Bond heard the bone chilling sound of metal against metal. Click. Click.

His heart skipped a beat.

Bond slowly opened his eyes and let his gaze fall to his wrists that were now securely fastened together.

All at once the oxygen in his lungs was gone and a sickening feeling of dread materialized in the pit of his stomach. The world became hazy and out of focus and in what seemed like a great distance he could hear a dark echo of laughter.

“ _Really James_ …” Silva cooed gently into Bond’s ear, “you must be more aware of your surroundings.” With that, Silva delivered a sharp blow to Bond’s head and all was dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a non beta'd work so I apologize for any spell errors and the like such as grammar.

A pair of calloused hands tightly gripped the muscles of Bond’s upper back and neck while red-hot kisses trailed along the curvature of his spine. Bond arched his back as he felt the heat of a man’s prick pierce him from behind and he hissed inward trying to move away from the immense pressure as it forced its way inside of him. Bond felt chained beneath the smothering beast of his own desires; he choked back a ravenous cry. Part of him wanted to escape this torture but another wanted to intensify it. Sure enough, Bond’s hips began to inch closer and closer and move in time with the rhythm of the other’s movements. He slapped a hand across his mouth in an attempt to hush the increasingly loud moans as they escaped his lips. Bond refused to listen to the disgraceful sounds that undoubtedly betrayed the truth of his emotions. A hand reached forward and snatched his fingers away pulling his arm to rest at the base of his lower back.

“ _Ah, ah, ah_ ,” cooed a cruel voice alongside his ear, “did I say you could cover your mouth?”

Bond’s eyes snapped shut, his abdomen muscles tighten with increasing heat, and he could feel his rational mind relinquish control over to his baser nature. He wanted to bury himself in a dark pit to snuff out the shame he felt as he flushed from the intensifying pleasure. He groaned louder with each blow to his backside. _No, this wasn’t a dream…_

\-----

“Good morning darling, did you sleep well?”

The cheerful sound of Silva’s empty greeting transported Bond back to the harsh reality of his miserable predicament. Bond craned his head towards the sound of the biting voice and through blurred vision he was able to make out the form of his captor. There, in all his glory, stood Bond’s abductor with a smile on his face as he leaned forward to awaken his prisoner. Silva bent further still to Bond’s restrained form and pressed his lips hard against the agent’s own. Bond cringed inwardly not wanting to give his sadistic host the pleasure of knowing his discomfort as the chapped raw flesh of his mouth bled easily from the pressure while Silva lingered joyfully for several agonizing moments. As his captor pulled away with a satisfied smile he wiped his thumb across Bond’s lips smearing the blood that had accumulated from the fresh wounds.

“You must be thirsty,” said Silva in a hollow voice, “look what I’ve brought you.”

Bond focused his attention upon his captor’s hands and spotted what looked to be a bottle of Macallan… blue label Sherry Oak. _Not bad_.

“ _mmm_ , how thoughtful,” Bond croaked with a sarcastic hum.

“I thought you might like it.”

Silva grabbed a hold of Bond’s strained neck and pulled him forward, his fingernails scratched the base of his captive’s hairline drawing thin lines of blood in their wake, and he raised the bottle to the agent’s open mouth. The angle of his body caused Bond’s muscles to further tense and intensify the pain that coursed though his contorted frame while he struggled to drink from the bottleneck. He did not relish the taste of the whiskey as he gulped down the biting liquid; instead Bond focused on supressing the overwhelming urge to choke as the alcohol threatened to overflow his mouth. Without warning Bond’s abductor removed his vice like grip and allowed the captive’s dangling body to fall back as he turned and put the whiskey aside on a nearby table. The sudden motion caused Bond to feel instantly nauseous as the cold liquid sloshed within his stomach. The skin of his calf pulled against the metal bar as he hung limply in the air, the abrasive rope torn at his wrists and ankles while his muscles threatened to spasm from the unnatural posture.

“I must say James, I am rather impressed.”

“Oh?”

A metallic shine at the edge of Bond’s peripheral vision drew his full attention. He watched with wary attentiveness as Silva removed a small knife from his jacket and began to strategically cut away at his restraints. The blade meticulously plucked at each strand of the coarse fibre.

“You’ve taken rather well to the pau-de-arara. Prolonged hanging in this position can cause acute muscle pain, loss of reflexes, and even paralysis, _ouch_ ,” Silva paused and smiled maliciously at his captive, his narrowed eyes flickered ominously under the low light, “your knees must be killing you.”

Bond laughed dryly before being dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

“Oh my,” Silva quipped with mild disdain, “I suppose the distance to the floor was further than I thought...”

Had he not just had the wind knocked out of him Bond would have responded more eloquently than his present company deserved; unfortunately all he could manage was a snort.

It would have to do.

A hum of satisfaction emitted from between Silva’s pleased lips before he stepped away from Bond’s crumpled form and strode beyond his field of vision. “I don’t presume you know the history of the pau-de-arara,” Silva mused aloud. “You see it was quite popular during the Brazilian dictatorship and was used on political prisoners in a similar fashion and could be complimented with, shall we say, other methods.”

Bond strained to hear Silva’s words above the grating static of wood being dragged over concrete. The noise aggravated the pulsing headache that had clouded his mind during the hour he was suspended. The sudden halt of noise earned a curious glance from the bruised captive and he noted that a chair had been placed nearby his skull. A huff betrayed the agent’s composed demeanour, he rubbed the skin between his eyes in an attempt to relieve the pressure, and he brought himself to stand on his feet. It took all of his muscle control to take the few short steps to the adjacent chair and even then Bond had to snatch at the rough wood of the backrest to prevent from collapsing back on to the floor. Silva waited patiently as his captive cautiously lowered himself on to the chair.

“Do you know why I’ve used such a method,” Silva probed with an inclined head and shrug of his shoulders, “do you think it was for my own pleasure?” Bond slowly raised a brow on his otherwise stony façade; he didn’t care for whatever answer his captor had to offer.

“Well…not entirely,” Silva smirked with a predatory wink, “I did rather enjoy the new found vulnerability you displayed.”

Bond appeared calm save for a hint of a sneer and hardening of his eyes as his mind flashed back to the previous night, “it’s rather easy to appear vulnerable when you’ve been hogtied to a pole.”

A warm chuckle broke through the dank air. “Yes, I do suppose it’s rather old fashioned but I cannot deny its capability to produce results.” Silva began to creep towards the seated figure with a hungry look in his eyes; with one hand he reached forward and spread Bond’s knees apart while the other gently brushed against his shoulder blades.

Bond found his limbs unresponsive as if they were held down by a great weight and he wondered whether it was a result of his captivity or of his own volition. It was more than just physical exhaustion. In his mind Bond was situated on the edge of a great precipice unable to take the plunge. In front of him stood Silva and all the possibilities of what he could be while behind him stood the shadow of his former self and the certainties of who he was once. Silva’s assault was a drop in the bucket but would ultimately help determine the direction of his fall.

It was with mild annoyance that Bond watched Silva descend upon the very edge of his thighs grinning with what Bond would describe as ‘flirtatious intent’. The larger man balanced his weight upon Bond’s tired muscles as his arms loosely embraced his captive’s upper body. Silva’s arousal was plainly visible for Bond to see and feel and his abductor took the liberty to emphasize it by inching himself across his lap. Bond’s skin was sensitive to the woollen fabric making it feel as if it were coarse sandpaper being dragged against his skin. Nevertheless, he wanted to pull Silva closer; he swallowed audibly and Silva smiled knowingly in return.

“If you do not say it I will not indulge you any further,” murmured his abductor as he pressed his face against Bond’s throbbing temple. Silva teased his captive with an inkling of his excitement; he increased the roll and pitch of his hips while his hands swept down the length of Bond’s arms. Bond leaned into the maddening friction and pressed his lips to Silva’s exposed jaw line. The overwhelming sensations invoked recent memories of Silva overpowering him, controlling him, and fucking him. Situations he once thought of as aversive had taken on a whole new appealing perspective.

“I should repay you for the damage you’ve caused me, however, I think you'd enjoy that _far too much_."

Bond shuddered in response to the enticing idea as shameless thoughts engulfed his mind. The agent arched his frame against his receptive host threatening to topple their entangled bodies.

“I want you to submit to me James, do you understand,” urged Silva’s husky voice. Bond exhaled loudly his breathing intensified in depth and length, his body felt heavier as the seconds slipped by, and he was unsure how much longer he could last. A strangled sound was all he could manage as he felt their hips finally press together.

“Yes,” Bond groaned instinctively as he slipped into unconsciousness.

\-----

Bond found himself pushing back, unabashed and without restraint, against Silva’s unrelenting assault. His knees scraped against the uneven floor while his unbridled moans increased in volume at the feeling of Silva’s tip as it grazed against his prostate. Suddenly he was forced to bow into his abductor’s weight causing the invasive organ to side up to the hilt as it slammed into his ass. Bond writhed uncontrollably around the man’s prick, a searing hot tongue darted out from Silva’s mouth and followed along the helix of his ear.

"Isn't this what you've wanted, James, isn't this what you've fantasized about,” goaded Silva between laboured breaths. “A good. Hard. Fuck. By someone who knows how to do it right.”

He ferociously bit at his captive’s lobe producing blood that speckled his chin. While unexpected, the pain itself was not undesirable, Bond grunted in surprise at the stinging sensation that radiated from his ear. Silva grinned icily to himself and without warning he halted his thrusts and began to remove himself from his captive’s constrictive hole.

Bond’s fingers grasped to find some kind of hold on the concrete floor. “Wait,” came a strangled bark from his hoarse throat. He clenched his jaw and huffed forcefully though his nostrils as he struggled to express his desires. "Touch me, I want you to touch me," he rasped between gritted teeth.

A hardened hand reached beneath Bond’s doubled form and enveloped his shaft stroking it with expertise. Silva’s thumb rolled up to tease the tip of his head spreading pre-come in the process, the man's grip tightened unbearably around his swollen prick before releasing it to the chagrin of Bond’s yearning requirement.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

Bond bit the inside of his cheek and rasped loudly, “ _fuck me_.”

\-----

The faint sound of a clock ticking stirred Bond from his slumber. As the agent came round to his senses he immediately noticed a change in his surroundings. He was no longer lying on a rough cement floor and, while sore, his limbs were able to move uninhibited on what felt like a soft platform. He raised a hand to the level of his eyes opening them cautiously. Instead of the all too familiar setting of his dank prison cell Bond was greeted by what appeared to be a pleasant mid-sized bedroom. The room was an austere design and contained simple wooden furnishings that were accentuated in subdued grey tones. The bed, _ah yes_ _the bed_ , Bond observed with a sigh as he sat up, was covered in linen sheets that were cool and comfortable against his skin.

If Bond didn’t know any better he would have presumed he had awoken in his own home.

“I thought you might enjoy a change of scenery,” exclaimed a melodic voice from across the room. Bond turned his attention to the source of the sound and with narrowed eyes was able to discern the unmistakable outline of his abductor’s figure as he emerged from just beyond an adjacent doorway.

Silva had removed his jacket and shoes since their last conversation and was currently in the process of eliminating his belt. The agent’s mouth felt increasingly parched as he followed Silva’s hand movements with lightheaded anticipation. His grip tightened upon the linen sheets as he watched the belt fall free to clatter audibly on the hardwood floor. Silva smiled seductively at Bond, whose heavy-lidded eyes betrayed any pretence of composure, he licked his bottom lip and eyed his captive’s poorly concealed arousal. One by one he unfastened the buttons of his shirt and with a flick of his wrist Silva removed the elegant cufflinks from his shirtsleeves. He slid his thumb smoothly along the edge of the shirt’s opening drawing Bond’s attention to the newly exposed skin.

"You can't keep your secrets hidden anymore James…I _know_ how much you want me."

A sharp intake of breath was all the response he needed to close the distance between himself and his captive propelling forward to kiss the other man with heightened vigour. Their mouths met with a ferocious intensity that rivalled any previous kiss shared between them; Bond accepted the oral invasion and returned Silva’s devouring kiss with equal parts hunger and desperation. A pair of steady hands shoved Bond against the mattress giving Silva more room to intimately straddle his captive’s lower half. Sounds of approval emanated from the restrained man as Bond allowed the other to dominate the passionate struggle. The agent lay immobile underneath the great frame of his abductor held securely by the grip of one large hand at the hinge of his jaw.

His own hands explored the smooth skin beneath his abductor’s open shirt and tugged abruptly at the cotton fabric until it fell free. Silva tossed the shirt away in an effortless motion eager to return to his own bold exploration. Bond shivered as a hand glided effortlessly down the front of his chest and beneath the linen sheet. Nimble fingers soon found the target of their exploration and Silva enclosed Bond’s swollen organ with the palm of his hand. Squeezing it roughly he began to stoke Bond’s cock in an agonizingly slow motion.

Hissing with discomfort Bond broke free of their kiss, hips arching into the abrasive touch. Between laboured breaths he gazed up defiantly at his captor and imagined the picture Silva saw before him. A bleary-eyed cock hungry man brought down by the need to fulfill his insatiable sexual appetite. The corners of Bond’s mouth twitched and he found himself smiling at the irony.

His tantalizing lips hovered mere milometers from Silva’s enflamed pair as they provoked the other man to close the distance between them. Instead, Silva continued to stroke and caress his captive’s prick, unwilling to concede in their little game. The agent had forgotten his muscle aches and instead relished in the growing warmth within his abdomen; he groaned as Silva inched his hips forward, their erect members brushing together at the edge of Silva’s trouser band. His hands drifted alongside his abductor’s ribcage tracing a delicate path towards their final destination and unbuttoned his fly. “Is that all,” Bond taunted haughtily cocking his head to one side.

Silva roughly grabbed a hold of Bond's tight ass and forced him up against the wooden headboard easily bruising the Agent’s thighs with his fingertips. He pressed his face roughly to the side of Bond’s face and scraped his teeth against the barely healed wound on his ear. “Spit,” he ordered as his raised an open palm to Bond’s thin mouth. The agent complied with the harsh order and spit into his abductor’s hand. He could feel Silva smile against the edge of his ear; unable to stop himself Bond shuddered eagerly as the hand disappeared below.

Bond felt the smooth head of Silva’s prick push against his entrance and he strained to stay in control, however he was utterly undone as he felt himself slide down the spit-slick shaft. Both men grunted quietly at Silva’s barely lubricated entrance; his captor paused to enjoy the tightness that surrounded him as the groaning agent withered around his cock. Bond pressed his face against dip of Silva’s throat and mouthed the soft skin with the barest of touches as they found a steady rhythm.

"How long have you watched me," Bond probed hoarsely as he scraped his teeth across Silva's chest, "how long have you fantasized about me fucking you?” Silva laughed breathlessly between gulps of air pushing further into Bond’s pinned form. "No longer than you imagined me doing this to you," he hushed pausing to accentuate the motion of his thrust.

Bond lavished Silva's skin with his tongue while a hand moved up to grasp a fistful of blonde hair. There would be more than one mark left in evidence of the night’s sexual jousting. Bond’s tongue traced the bruised flesh of Silva’s throat and neck. He bit down on a particularly tender spot resulting in a pleasurable intake of breath that stopped Silva’s movement as he revelled in the delightful surprise.

“Did I tell you to stop,” snapped Bond as he allowed his weight to pull himself back down upon Silva's pulsating member. “Patience is a virtue,” Silva chimed through barred teeth as he began his thrusts anew. One hand found its way around Bond’s throat while the other held him firmly by his inner thigh. Bond closed his eyes and gasped for air, the feeling of asphyxiation coupled with Silva’s unrestrained lust drove him closer to orgasm, he reached blindly in an effort to pull his abductor’s lower half harder against his entrance.

Their gazes locked on to one another and both refused to break the other's stare. Bond found himself unable to look away from the scrutiny of Silva’s sharp blue eyes. An indigo rim accentuated lighter flecks of blue and green as they shimmered around the deep pools of his pupils. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection within their glossy depths and he wondered whether his own eyes looked as starved. Braced against each other their rhythm began to dissolve into an erratic pace and as Silva neared his climax he groaned letting his head fall back.

The friction against his prostate was more than Bond could handle as a torrid of euphoria eradiated from his spasms constricting himself around Silva’s cock. The heat of his passion quickly spread throughout his entire body with every beat of his heart as he felt Silva come deep inside. His own cock twitched with the force of his orgasm spraying his chest with come. The room fell silent save for the heaving of two sweat slick men caught in the throes of ecstasy.

Silva sank forward against his captive and rubbed his face against Bond’s cheek. The agent allowed his eyes to close for a moment focusing on the speed of Silva’s heartbeat and the pressure from the rise and fall of his chest.

He contemplated how he had allowed himself to be taken with the waves of pleasure instead of fighting against it. It was the same feelings of exhilaration he had felt while dominating his former captive but this pleasure contained something more profound. Something he was unable to achieve before his abduction. The desperation he felt to break and control Silva was only a mirror of his own need to be broken and controlled. The elusive solution to his cravings as it turned out was …a good hard fuck. Somewhere deep inside he wanted this and he wanted Silva. No doubt just as much as Silva had wanted him.

As his heartbeat slowed Silva lifted his body off of his captive and removed his soft prick before slumping down into the warm sheets. Bond arose from the bed and scanned the room for a towel before making his way to the open bathroom; while a shower would have been preferable Bond decided that he had better be on his way and he quickly splashed warm water over his face and chest.

As he exited the bathroom Bond wiped the remnants of come off his chest. Tossing the towel aside Bond spotted a set of neatly folded clothes on the low settee at the end of the bed. He grabbed the pair of dark trousers at the top of the pile and began to done the fine clothing. Bond finished dressing quickly and as he slipped on the dark fitted jacket he paused to examine his reflection in the floor length mirror.

“Nice fit,” purred a sleep slurred voice from the bed.

“Not bad,” hummed Bond as he smirked in satisfaction at the elegant cut of his figure adjusting his shirtsleeves before making his way to the door.

“Until next time, James,” Silva called. “Your place or mine,” baited Bond with charming resolve as he turned the brass knob of the bedroom door and walked out of the room. Making his way down the hallway Bond rummaged through the pockets of the tailored jacket until he found the familiar shape of a pair of keys.

 _Now_ , he wondered as he pulled them out of his pocket, _where did Silva park the car_?

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you've enjoyed the thrilling conclusion of this fic. I had writers block for the longest time and was unsure how to proceed from the last chapter. It was fun to write and I am glad I was able to finish it.


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